The Adventures of the Holmes Family
by Ash to Dust
Summary: Watson has left 221B Baker Street to live with Mary. When he returns to visit his old friend he finds many things he had not expected, much hilarity insues. A selection of short stories following the lives of Sherlock Holmes and his family.
1. The Adventure of the Household Tyrant

The Adventure of the Household Tyrant

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I would have thought, being the doctor that I am that I would find holding a child to come naturally, as child care is a topic related to those in a medical profession. Had I realised how difficult it is to both hold the child comfortably and retain any sense of dignity I would have declined the request of the man currently sitting across from me.

I speak, of course, of my good friend and teacher, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The best detective of the age no doubt who could pull conclusions from the colour of mud upon someone's shoe; although I am sure he required none of his considerable knowledge and skill to sense my discomfort. Instead he seemed perfectly happy to merely sit across from me, relaxed in the armchair he was so fond of, and smoke his pipe with a dazed smile upon his face.

The cause of my friends' almost overwhelming happiness was not, thankfully, the contents of his morocco case (which I note had long since vanished) but the bundle that I was attempting to hold in my arms.

His position was one I took only a moderate interest in, after I had married Mary and moved out of out shared lodgings at Baker Street and was no longer constantly in his company. I had read of many of his successes in the papers and occasionally I passed by Baker Street whilst returning from an errand but I saw him only occasionally. It was very surprising to me then, when I visited his rooms one evening to discuss business only to find him in the prescence of a rather pretty young lady.

He had beckoned me inside and sat me down without hesitation and had promptly introduced me to Miss Sophie Richards, the niece of his new client, who had no family to speak of and, after a rather disastrous fire, no home. She seemed a nice enough lady, gentle and well spoken, but I sensed within her a sharp mind and even sharper wit.

After that visit I had expected never to see Miss Richards again as Holmes had never been a social man and had little interest in women, unless they could outsmart him. However my next visit had proved very informative.

It seemed that Holmes had fallen for Miss Richards, who was a keen musician and had often visited him after I had departed some months ago, to accompany his violin, for Holmes was as much a composer as a performer. Miss Richard's forte was the piano, which she played very well. But I knew at once that Holmes loved her not for her skills but for her mind as Miss Richards was an author.

Since then I had never seen one without the other and it appeared that Miss Richards had 'moved in' to Baker Street between my short visits. I could also see that she was doing Holmes good, during my third visit I found that Holmes had tidied his rooms and had given up on drugs (apart from tobacco of course) completely. This news overjoyed me as I had never approved of that particular habit. Not long after I witnessed Holmes' proposal to Miss Richards at the Grand one evening. Mary, who had joined me, had smiled knowingly and congratulated Holmes wholeheartedly; it appeared that the two had finally made amends.

As so, in front of a small congregation, Sophie Richards became Sophie Holmes. Neither had wanted a large wedding although I am sure that I spied Mycroft, Holmes' older brother that he had long drifted away from, standing near the back.

Years had passed and Holmes continued his detective work. There were still many close misses but Holmes seemed to be less reckless now that he had Sophie to think about. In fact Sophie often joined us as sometimes her knowledge on a subject was superior to that of either her husbands' or mine. One event led to the next and this is what led to me sitting across from Holmes, attempting to hold a child in my arms.

"It is harder than it looks is it not?" Holmes remarked as I adjusted my grip for the umpteenth time. His hands were occupied elsewhere, with one holding his pipe and the other resting lightly on his wife's, who was still fast asleep. The sun had set as I had mulled over recent events and the room was now illuminated only by the fire, making red patterns dance across Holmes' face. In such light he appeared nearly ten years younger.

"Indeed it is. I would not have so but now I understand it is something that comes with time and practice." I replied quietly, not wanting to disturb the child.

"Maybe you will find that it is something that comes naturally when you have a child of your own. I found no difficultly, it seemed almost familiar." Holmes commented carefully rising out of his chair to take the child from me. The ease with which he positioned the child would have made any proud man blush. After settling down in his chair beside the bed, the blanketed bundle held securely in his arms I ventured another question.

"What are you going to name her?" It was perhaps the first question that had entered my head upon seeing the little girl. She was dainty, like her mother and would undoubtedly have the mind of her father if her current ability to grab attention was anything to go by. She was only five hours old after all.

"Sophie and I have discussed several names that we feel appropriate." Holmes replied, "But I shall consult her before naming our daughter. To name her without her mother's opinion would do nothing for my reputation."

"Indeed it would not." Mrs. Hudson entered with a steaming teapot on hand. I had noticed many changes in her manner too. Although she had always stood in awe at Holmes, mainly due to his princely payment for the rooms, she had clearly disapproved of many of his activities and was often bitter and unkind to him.

Now she took great measures to ensure his health, even allowing me to briefly use one of her tables as a makeshift operating theatre after one (and thankfully only one) incident that had led to Holmes taking a bullet. It had frightened her, that was clear and even I had struggled to gain the calm sense of mind required to tend to my friend. It was Sophie who had calmed us down with the assurance that Holmes was strong willed and would not leave us without due notice. It was clear that Mrs. Hudson was fond of Sophie.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Holmes greeted quietly, rearranging his arms to allow him to drink the offered beverage.

"You should get some rest Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Hudson replied gently, "You'll do yourself no good staying up all night. I am sure that the good doctor and I can watch the babe for a few hours."

"You are too kind." Holmes said with a smile, "I am tired, but I would not dare fall asleep until Sophie has held her daughter."

"Then you shall be asleep very soon Sherlock." I think that we all jumped, even Holmes, as Sophie spoke up from her place on the bed.

"Sophie! How are you?" Mrs Hudson asked before Holmes could speak.

"Very well Mrs. Hudson." Sophie replied politely, carefully sitting up. Holmes however had raised an eyebrow at her.

"How long have you been awake? I suspect that it is longer than five minutes." Sophie laughed gently as Holmes sat down on the edge of the bed, his daughter still cradled in his arms.

"You are right as always Sherlock." Sophie replied, "I have been listening to your conversation for nearly ten minutes now. I am glad that you wished to consult me before naming our child." Holmes gave her a gentle smile and an even gentler kiss before handing the tiny babe over to her mother. Sophie looked upon the girl and gasped, tears filling her eyes.

"What is wrong?" I asked, unable to stem my curiosity.

"Nothing is wrong Watson, she is prefect." Sophie whispered so quietly that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

"I am glad to hear it." I replied.

"I think she is an Abigail." Sophie murmured after a moment. It just so happened, that Abigail had been the first name on the list Holmes had recited to me not ten minutes previously. That list had been the list of Holmes' favourites.

"Abigail Holmes." Holmes tested the name, rolling it over his tongue. "It is a perfect name. It is appropriate as well; I believe it means 'joy of the father' although I may be mistaken. "

"You are not." Sophie confirmed, "It suits her." I cannot document the following events; I can only say that Mrs. Hudson and I left the room to allow the new parents a moment together as a family. I left later that night after saying a brief farewell as I had to get back to Mary.

All I can say is that as I suspected, the Holmes family had many adventures yet to come.


	2. The Adventure of the Single Syllable

2. The Adventure of the Single Syllable

During my frequent visits to 221B Baker Street with either business or a social goal in mind I have often found myself fascinated by the youngest Holmes. Little Abigail certainly required no encouragement when it came to exploring as she was often found in the most surprising of places, one particularly memorable incident ended with Sophie finding Abigail in the cooking pot, but that is a story for another time.

For now the daughter of the infamous Sherlock Holmes was just learning to speak. This is itself was not particularly unusual, if it were about the notion however, Abigail had chosen the most amusing vocabulary.

If I recall correctly her first words had been the common ones, 'mama' and 'dada' along with the dreaded 'no' and the slightly more comforting 'yes'. It was to my great surprise that Abigail not only acted normally but was a very polite young child. Considering that Sherlock Holmes was her father I had suspected her to be rather quiet and grumpy, but she was kind and lively instead.

"Why?" Ah, the great tormentor of all parents. I glanced down and, sure enough, there was Abigail, having sneaked up on me (another thing she had gained from her father). I decided to interpret her question as 'Why do you have that funny bag Dr. Watson?' because my bag was the item at which she was pointing.

"I have something your father wants to see." I replied softly and slowly. It seemed that Abigail understood what I was saying but simply could not say it herself.

"Deduce my good fellow." Abigail said proudly and giggled quietly. It was clear that she had been listening to her father's conversations with either me or his other clients. It was rather strange hearing the words spoken by a three-year-old child and I could hardly stop a small chuckle escaping.

"What could your father possibly deduce?" I asked just to see what she would say.

"Bad men, for dada's investi- investig- investigation!" She replied proudly with a grin upon her face. For a moment she looked incredibly like her father, Sherlock Holmes, when he was putting his mind to good use following the clues and tracking down criminals. He got the same exited look that Abigail now showed.

"Indeed Abby, are you bothering the poor man?" Holmes himself had appeared at the top of the stairs and was smiling down at Abigail. Clearly the shortened version of her name had become the common one as she instantly turned her attention upon him.

"No dada, talking." Holmes raised an eyebrow at his little girl before walking down the stairs and scooping her up into his arms. She laughed delightedly as his long finger found the few places where she was ticklish.

"Just talking where we?" Holmes questioned sternly. Abigail writhed in his grip, struggling to break free.

"Yes dada! Stop! Please!" Finally he stopped tormenting his daughter and carefully set her down again. After sending her off to find Sophie, her mother, Holmes led me into his study and sat my down. We talking for some time about the various investigations Holmes had conducted in my absence, Holmes relaxing in his armchair, smoking his pipe whilst I leant forwards to catch every precious word.

Just as Holmes finished on a detailed account of his current case the involved some mysterious murders (or rather assassinations as he called them) and playing cards there was a knock on the front door. Rather than leaving Mrs. Hudson to answer Holmes leapt from his chair and told me to remain out of site.

Surprised I followed him to the stairs before ducking down behind on of the large posts. I watched as Holmes carefully pulled out his revolver, checking the bullets before placing it back in his pocket. This was the most bemusing behaviour, but I quickly understood. The murderers were killing anybody who got in their way, as Holmes had inferred, and my friend was most definitely in the way.

Just as I was about to warn Holmes he reached forward and pulled the door open. The silhouette of a man was stood on the doorstep and I saw a brief flash of metal as his sword came to rest against Holmes' throat.

Holmes instinctively (or maybe purposefully, one can never be sure with him), backing away into the building and the assassin was forced to follow. A swift gust of wind blew the door shut and there was an echoing bang and then silence. Holmes had not moved since the man had once again pressed the metal against his vulnerable neck.

"Where is it?" The man asked, his voice more of a hiss than anything else.

"I have no idea what you are talking about; even if I did I would hardly tell a man who was holding a blade to my throat." Holmes replied calmly, I could tell that he was searching for this man's weakness, ready to use it against him.

"Do not play with me Holmes. I know that you have it." The man snarled.

"Indeed I do." Holmes said simply, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. The man made a noise like a growl.

"Tell me where it is or I shall end your life and find it myself." Holmes looked vaguely surprised.

"Will you now? I hardly doubt your searching skills but do you really think that you will be able to find one item amongst thirty years of papers? Especially considering that I have considerable experience when it comes to hiding things." The man's hand was beginning to tremble and I feared that he would slip and injure my friend.

Instead the most shocking and unexpected thing happened as a small voice from the doorway spoke up. I saw Holmes stiffen and had myself stopped dead in shock. Surely an assassin would have no quarrel with killing everyone in the house?

"Why?" There stood Abigail, clearly scared and uncertain. She knew what was going on and she knew that her father was in danger. The man's gaze slid to her for the briefest of moments and quickly returned to Holmes as though he had expected him to attack.

"Why indeed? Why is there a child in this house? There are no other tenants after all." The assassin sounded confused and Holmes swiftly shook himself out of his stupor and responded.

"You may be a man with no heart, but can you kill in front of an innocent child? Could you kill a child in cold blood? I rather doubt it. I suspect that you would find it ever harder to kill the child's father in front of her." It seemed to click in the man's eyes and his gaze flicked from the child to Holmes and back again.

"Impossible." His whispered in shock, his hand steady again, but the blade was no longer pressed against Holmes' throat, merely held, as though his surprise had slackened his grip.

"If you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." My friend said simply, not daring to move.

"You cannot have a child, every criminal in town would know."

"But they do not Mr. Thompson." The man's attention turned swiftly back to Holmes, shock evident in his eyes.

"How can you know that?" Once again I merely waited for my friend to explain how he had come to his conclusion and I was not disappointed.

"You believed that your wife, Mrs. Eliza Thompson had been cheating on you when you found her bloodstained handkerchief in another man's pocket. You believed that the man had killed her when he found out that she was married. What you did not know was that your wife had found the man in the middle of the street, injured after a fight with some muggers, and had offered her handkerchief to the man to clean a cut on his face, which he had graciously received.

Your wife then travelled around town in search of a doctor and arrived home mere minutes after you left to find her. You came across the man and recognised the handkerchief. Assuming the worst you proceeded to question and beat him, accidentally causing serious damage that later led to his death.

Shocked at what you had done you ran from the scene but you were pursued by someone who had seen the attack. To cover your tracks you grabbed a nearby hammer and killed him as well. By now there was no way you could escape prison or the hangman's noose and so sought to kill anyone that could trace the crimes to you, using your friend's sword as a weapon, thus placing him as a suspect. As I became involved you sought to remove me and here you are, preparing to do the deed." Mr. Thompson looked so terrified that I feared he would kill Holmes and run but his eyes alighted on Abigail and he had to look away as his eyes were swiftly filling with tears.

"What have I done?" He cried dropping his weapon. Holmes swiftly handcuffed him to the banister and seemed to sag in relief. I noticed that he was instantly heading towards the spot where Abigail stood, crying quietly. He picked her up and held her tightly, whispering soothing words into her ear. Although he would never admit it, he was crying too. Finally Abigail calmed down and Holmes said sternly to her,

"Don't you ever do that to me again, I feared that I would lose you." Holmes called me out from my hiding place and I slowly descended the stairs, careful to avoid the weeping man.

"He never meant to harm anyone." I said sadly, "He hadn't the heart."

"Indeed," my friend agreed, still holding Abigail closely as though he feared that she would vanish he let go, "but it took the tears of an innocent child to make him realise so."


	3. The Adventure of the Final Present

**All Cats Are Grey - Thanks for the feedback, it's much apprechiated. (Yes it was a Star Trek quote, although Spock was originally quoting Holmes anyway!)**

**Curreeus - Cute indeed! I'm aiming for fluffy and funny, hopefully I'm succeeding :)**

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**3. The Adventure of the Final Present

For those of you that had ever read any of the tales of Sherlock Holmes you will undoubtedly know that he plays the violin, very well in fact. This is some useful information that has a significant part to play in my most recent visit to Baker Street.

I had arrived at Baker Street earlier that morning along with Mary, my wife, with the intent of visiting my friend and giving Abigail her fourth birthday present. The youngest member of the Holmes family was growing up incredibly quickly and already I could tell her future trade for her knowledge on the intricacies of the cases her father worked on were remarkable. It was a near certainty that she too would one day be a detective, even though it was exceedingly controversial.

As I entered my old lodgings at 221B I was instantly pulled into a firm hug by Sherlock Holmes, who had become far more sociable during the last year and a smaller hug around me knees by Abigail who was now tall enough to reach my waist.

"Good morning Dr. Watson." She greeted simply, her voice muffled as her face was buried in my clothes. Holmes turned to greet Mary behind me and I heard some of the pleasantries.

"Good morning Abby." I replied as she released me from her grip, turning to hug my wife. Holmes was already half way across the room, heading towards the hangers, my coat, hat and Mary's coat in his hands; I had not even noticed him taking them from us. He turned back in the doorway and gave me a once over.

"You are looking well Watson, your timing is as remarkable as always, Abby was just about to open her presents." He commented as he gestured for us to enter the living room. Sophie was sat there although she too stood and greeted us before we seated ourselves around the small table, upon which were a collection of gifts.

I could tell that two were from Holmes and Sophie as I recognised their tastes in paper. One had to be from Mycroft Holmes as the paper looked expensive and the elder Holmes sibling had a considerable amount of money. That present also had several postmarks suggesting that it had come from a fair distance away, about as far as Mycroft's estate. To my surprise one appeared to be from Lestrade as I would recognise his scruffy wrapping anywhere.

The last two required wider deductions. Eventually I came to the conclusion that the smaller one was from Irene Adler because of the shape and lack of markings upon the packaging. The last had to be from Mrs. Hudson as it had no postmarks and only she also lived in the house.

I added two further presents to the pile. One was from me and the other from Mary as she had been quite taken with Abby when she had last visited with me. I was also quite fond of the youngest daughter and as my wife, had begun to think of her as you would a niece.

Abby had then entered the room was examining the pile with a mild interest but I knew the look in her eyes. It was a look that Holmes had when he was on the trail. She carefully walked around the table, eying each package calmly but I could see her taking in and noting every detail. She didn't even glance up when Mrs. Hudson walked in with the tea. Instead she glanced at her father, who nodded, with an encouraging smile on his face.

Much to my surprise she reached out and plucked the present from Mycroft from the pile, turning it over in her small hands and after a moment announcing her conclusion.

"Uncle Mycroft." She said decisively and looked for approval, Holmes' smile widened as she opened the gift and realised that she had been right. She then repeated the procedure with the rest of her presents, getting each one right with only a few uncertainties. Sometimes Holmes would ask her how her reached her conclusion, most times he didn't.

However I found that I had missed a present as one had been hidden beneath the others. It was a strange shape, but a recognisable one. Once again Abby examined it but this time she was at a loss. After several minutes she shrugged and turned to her father who carefully took it from her hands.

"I can't place it." She said simply in explanation.

"Indeed you can't." Holmes replied and I saw a brief smile pass between him and Sophie, along with a knowing look, "Open it and see Abby. I'm proud of you for getting this far, you would have put me to shame if I were your age." Beaming at the praise Abby carefully opened it to reveal a delicate violin, in just her size. It was a polished wood and very well made but had no distinct markings. Instead there was a letter inside.

"Shall I read it out loud?" Abby asked. Once again I was shocked at how well educated the girl was, reading at four years of age was practically unheard of.

"Please do." Holmes replied and Abby broke the seal and began to read aloud.

"_My dearest Abigail,_

_Although we are yet to meet I am sure that I know everything there is to know about you. Undoubtedly you were unable to correctly deduce the sender of your final present and I would be surprised if anyone other than your parents knew who I am._

_My brother is Sherlock Holmes, thus making you my niece. He will not have mentioned me up to this point for your safety and for mine. I am, different, to say the least of what you would expect a lady to be. In fact, I would much rather prefer to be treat like a gentleman._

_I hope to meet you soon._

_Yours,_

_Francesca Holmes._

Although she had struggled over some of the longer words I do not think any person in the room, with the exception of Sherlock and Sophie, was not struck dumb. This was the first I had heard of Francesca Holmes and had long lived under the impression that he and Mycroft were the only children. Clearly that was not the case.

"Would you care for a brandy my dear fellow, I daresay that you are looking rather pale." Holmes was standing with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other with a cheerful and mischievous sparkle in his eye.

"My brother is Sherlock Holmes?" I questioned simply, finally finding my voice, "I did not know that you had a sister."

"You were not supposed to know Watson. If you did she would surely by either dead or imprisoned for she has long followed my line of work and often finds herself in dangerous situations or breaking the law for the sake of the good of others." Holmes replied as he handed me the glass and pulled Abby onto his lap, she instinctively cuddled into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

"You'll have to teach me the play the violin daddy." Abby murmured and Holmes couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"You have just learned of the existence of your aunt and you are asking me to teach you the violin?" Holmes asked in amusement.

"I've known for a while daddy, I overhead you and mummy talking about it." Abby informed Holmes. Holmes, to his credit, looked surprised before a grin broke out upon his face.

"That's my girl." He said fondly, ruffling her hair. After she had opened all her presents and half the cake had been consumed Sophie took me and Mary aside for a moment to ask me a very important question.

"John, Mary, I have been meaning to ask you for a while and Sherlock has agreed to it, we would like very much for you to be Abby's godparents should anything happen to us." Sophie told me quietly. I knew what had brought this on, for Holmes was still clearly bothered by the injury he had received to his shoulder during his last case. I had glimpsed his flinch when Abby had hugged him, but she too had noticed it and loosened her grip.

"I would be delighted and I am sure Mary will be to." I said, turning to my wife.

"Indeed, I would be honoured." There were tears in her eyes, as I am sure there were in mine. A moment later the doorbell rang and Holmes leapt up to answer it. We waited, momentarily confused, but soon all our questions were answered as he entered with a young lady in tow, although she was dressed much like any man.

I saw the resemblance immediately and it took my very little time to note the other little signals and actions associated with such a conclusion. This was undoubtedly Francesca Holmes, she had Holmes' eyes and nose, but her hair was a lighter colour.

"May I introduce my beloved sister, Fran." Holmes announced and we greeted her as we would greet any guest, it was not until Holmes began to speak again that my suspicions were confirmed. "She is also my twin."

I raced forwards just in time to caught Mrs. Hudson as she fainted.


	4. The Adventure of Three Friends

**Sorry it took so long to update, revision time has arrived for my GCSE's :( Anyway:**

**All Cats Are Grey: It is awesome, Holme's quotes are everywhere :)**

**moon cutie: You asked for more, here it is, thanks for reading!**

**Curreeus: I thought it would be an interesting twist. Glad to see it worked! Keeping on with the fluffiness.**

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**4. The Adventure of Three Friends

I had, at some point in my lengthy acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, thought him unlikely to consider any case with nothing but cold-hearted emotional detachment then came the case of Abigail's friends, or rather their unexplained and unscheduled appearance at 221B Baker Street that afternoon. It was the single most humorous and shameful occasion (for my friend at least).

Abigail Holmes was now five years of age and had the most inquisitive and observational mind I had ever come across, with the exception of her father. Recently she had begun to spend three days a week at a school for young children that had opened in the area. It was not surprising that she quickly made many friends among the students and many enemies among the staff.

It was during her third week in this routine that I received a call from Sherlock Holmes asking for my assistance in a new case. Delighted at the opportunity to work alongside my friend once more I eagerly accepted and spent much of the morning sitting across from Holmes and listening to the details of the case.

It was around one in the afternoon when the door opened and Abby came running in and prompted jumped onto her father's lap and gave him a firm hug. Smiling gently at his daughter, even though she had just interrupted his speech on the evidence, Holmes ruffled her hair, earning himself a pout.

"Daddy?" Abby ventured.

"Yes my little one?" Holmes replied, repositioning her on his lap.

"Do you mind terribly if my friends stay over for a few hours because their parents have got stuck in the snow." A glance out of the window indeed showed that the light snow that had been falling a few minutes ago had become a firm blizzard. Holmes however looked uncertain.

"Are you sure it is only for a few hours?" He asked, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of children he didn't know in the house. Although Holmes had become more sociable and comfortable around people in the last few years he still did not find looking after young children an occupation within his _forte_.

"Please daddy?" Even Holmes could not deny the expression Abby pulled at that moment. If I had known then that Abby would never take to the stage at some point in her life I would not have believed it.

"Alright then, but you keep quiet and…" He was cut off from his well rehearsed speech but his young daughter.

"Don't touch anything or enter your study, yes I know." She said and happily hopped off his knee to go and play with her friends.

"She has you wrapped around her little finger." I commented needlessly as the door closed behind Abby. Holmes gave a small sigh and glanced at me over the top of his steeped fingers.

"I have been wrapped around her finger for over five years my dear fellow." Holmes then continued his narrative about the case and we both quickly forgot about the presence of three extra young children until it was time for me to leave. Holmes, with a momentary glance out of the window, ordered me to stay until the snow had cleared as it would do no good for my leg.

Agreeing, I followed him downstairs and found, as he did, Abby and three friends, one of whom was male, sat around the table playing a board game that Abby had found from somewhere. We had completely forgotten about Holmes's earlier agreement with his daughter.

"Is the snow really bad father?" I noted that is the company of my friends Abby had become far more formal.

"I'm afraid so," Holmes replied with some trepidation, "Are your friends unable to get home?" At the mention of their condition Abby's friends risked a couple of glances towards the most famous detective of the age.

"They can't at the moment. Do you think they could stay the night?" Holmes surveyed the small group. I could almost hear the gears working in his head. They hadn't caused any trouble yet, nor had they been noisy.

"I suppose so." Holmes agreed somewhat reluctantly.

"I'm sure we could find some spare pillows and sheets and set you up in the living room near the fire." I suggested and Abby's face instantly lit up.

"Dr. Watson, could you help us build a tent, like you showed me? Then we could sit inside and tell each other stories until we get tired." The other children seemed particularly excited about this idea and Holmes, much to my surprise, seemed to think it was a very good idea.

We set about finding the sheets and poles required and together with the children built the tent in the living room, however, instead of heading upstairs Holmes grabbed my sleeve and pulled me down so that we were seated on the floor, just inside the tent.

"I used to spend many evenings with Fran and Mycroft like this." He explained and I was surprised at how comfortable he appeared talking about his younger life. The children filed in and Abby smiled when she spotted us.

"This is Kathy," Abby said politely as her pointed to each of her friends in turn, "Isabel and Oliver. Everyone, meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson." With pleasantries exchanged we settled down amongst piles of pillows.

"So who's going to start?" Oliver asked after a moment.

"How about Dr. Watson?" Holmes spoke up promptly, "He has quite a talent for storytelling." Placed on the spot as I was I chose a small recent case and began to tell it as a story. Holmes's amused smirk at my choice only spurred me on and when I finished it was to a round of applause.

The stories went on into the evening and then the night. I'm afraid to admit that we lost track of time and soon Holmes had got his violin out and was playing a gentle lilting tune, changing and composing new variants to fit the tales. When Isabel began to talk about her cheeky older brother the notes became quick and playful and when Abby spoke about her adventures it changed to a flowing, mysterious sound.

Soon, one by one, the children fell asleep and I couldn't help but join them, having had more than a far share of brandy during the evening. I glimpsed Abby snuggling up to her father, her head on his chest, before they too drifted off.

In the morning I was glad we had remembered pillows. Stretching out my cramped muscles I wandered upstairs to clean myself up before rousing my friend and Abby. Once everyone was awake we dismantled the tent and Mrs. Hudson made a delicious cooked breakfast to keep out the cold.

By the time the children's parents arrived the children were fed and properly dressed. The snow outside had cleared enough to allow carriages through and one by one Abby's friends were greeted by anxious parents.

"I hope they weren't any trouble." Kathy's parents said quietly to Holmes and I as Kathy said goodbye.

"No trouble at all." We assured them and by lunchtime only Oliver was left. His parent's lived furthest away and we soon received word that they had got stuck behind two carriages and would be some time. Abby decided to teach us the board game they had been playing the previous afternoon to pass the time.

Once everyone had gone Holmes pulled out his pipe and relaxed into his armchair by the fire. I sat opposite him and pulled out my journal to record the events of the previous day and we sat in silence for a good half hour before Holmes spoke.

"I have to admit that I found last nights activities most fruitful." Intrigued I asked him what he meant. "The stories we shared allowed me to reflect on many things my good fellow and some of the bizarre and outrageous events sorted many loose ends in the case I spoke to you about."

"You have solved it then?"

"Indeed I have, but I would never have thought that listening to childish tales would have given me the answers I needed." Holmes told me simply.

"What did you think of last night?" I asked purely out of curiosity. There was a pause as Holmes considered his answer.

"Honestly my dear fellow, I quite enjoyed it. It was relaxing and gave my mind many puzzles to think over. I would not mind having similar occasions in the future."

As I left the house an hour later to return to Mary I had to reflect that I wasn't certain that my moustache had hidden my triumphant smile at Holmes's admittance of his feelings towards the bizarre and strangely helpful company of children. Finally, we were getting somewhere.


	5. The Adventure of the First Report

**Sorry it's been so long! I've had GCSE exams recently and now have the rest of them coming up, but I'll try to update before they're over!**

**moon cutie: Thanks for the support! I'll try to update more often :)**

**klutzygal12: I've always seen him a soft on the inside (let have some more of that eh?)**

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**5. The Adventure of the First Report

If you have read any of my previous tales of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his cases then you may have noticed a reference to a band of street urchins better known as the Baker Street Irregulars. Having left my shared lodgings with the eccentric detective nearly six years ago I had hardly expected a visit from one of the boys he had used as messengers.

He turned up ridiculously early yesterday morning, before six if my memory serves, asking for me. Mary had, reluctantly, let the boy in and once I had made myself presentable (which took considerably less time than normal, I was worried that Holmes had hurt himself again) I came downstairs and confronted the boy.

"Miss 'omes says if I get this message to ya 'fore six I'll get an extra shilling sir." Was his response to my questioning his early arrival.

"What was the message?" I asked, my curiosity overriding my fear.

"Miss 'omes said that she wanted ya to come over 'cos daddy wasn't feelin' too good the other day an' that he's not got any better an' that she doesn't know what's wrong, sir." The boy, Higgins I recall, reeled his message off at an unbelievable speed. But I hardy noticed. If Holmes was ill and he couldn't work out what was wrong… I couldn't bear to think of my godchild losing her father, nor I losing my closest friend.

Let us just say that I have never got to Baker Street faster than I did that day. Arriving with Mary and my medical bag we were shown in by Mrs. Hudson, another sign that something was wrong as Sophie usually answered the door. I was surprised to see the Francesca Holmes was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank God you're here doctor." She cried, grabbing my hand and pulling me up the stairs. I was only just able to follow without tripping.

"What in the heavens is wrong?" I asked as we sped up the stairs.

"My brother has been poisoned, arsenic I believe, although we didn't know that yesterday and we certainly don't know how to treat him." Entering the bedroom I had a considerable shock. Never have I seen Holmes as pale as he was then. He appeared to be feverish and had clearly recently been rather violently sick, whether induced (which would be a good idea) or simply a symptom I didn't know.

"Dr. Watson!" Abby called from her place by the window, "The dose wasn't very big, but it is still a danger. I know who did it and I'm going after them with Auntie Fran and Inspector Lestrade." Had Abby been anyone else's child I'm fairly sure that I wouldn't her believed her. But she was the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and her deductive and observation skills were nearly as sharp as his.

After a brief examination of my friend I had to agree with her conclusion. The dose couldn't have been very large or Holmes would be dead by now, however if left without treatment the effects could be just as final. He was displaying most of the early symptoms of the poison but none were severe and he had only a slight fever.

Settling down in the chair beside the bed I heard Francesca talking hurriedly to Mary and Sophie outside the room. A moment later Abby popped her head through the door and announced that both her mother and my wife wished to join the hunt but I couldn't come because I had to look after Holmes.

Disgruntled though I was I couldn't help but smile. Six years ago Holmes had feared dying alone, with no friends but now he had army made up of his family and his friends ready and willing to go to his defence. Even Mrs. Hudson wanted to go but we agreed that she should stay and keep an eye out for any loiterers and to make sure that I had enough supplies and tea to keep me going.

After a hurried explanation to Lestrade and Clarkie from the Yard the mis-matched group set off down the street clearly following Abby's directions. I had no doubt that they would catch the man before the attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes became actual murder.

I spent the rest of the day watching over my sick friend and waiting from the search party's return. They arrived back, without Lestrade, at around six in the evening with triumphant smiles on their faces.

"I take it you caught that man."

"Of course we did!" Six-year-old Abby announced from behind her mother as the crowd took off coats and shoes. "Inspector Lestrade has taken him to Scotland Yard to lock him up. How is daddy?" Within a second she had gone from confidant and happy to terribly worried. I offered her a small smile.

"Your daddy's doing fine Abby. I bet he'll be up and about tomorrow like nothing ever happened." This seemed to cheer her up and she went to bed with good spirits. Once she was out of ear-shot Sophie turned her eyes on me.

"How is he really John?" The answer of my first name surprised me because, like her husband, Sophie had taken to calling me Watson all the time.

"No better, but no worse either, which is a good sign because it means the poison is leaving his system but doing no further damage. He should be awake tomorrow but it'll take him a few days to regain his strength." Sophie groaned at my last statement.

"Keeping him away from his work is going to be a nightmare!" She exclaimed and Francesca smiled knowingly.

Holmes did wake the following day around noon and instantly alert as he was he began to give me details of his attempted killer. After a few moments I silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Your daughter has already taken of him." I informed Holmes as, suddenly drained of energy and with the help of my hand firm against him he slumped back against the pillows.

"Abby?" He muttered weakly.

"She apprehended him with a little help from the Baker Street clan." I told him softly as I poured him a glass of water from the side table.

"Who are the Baker Street clan?" He asked, confused, clearly having never heard my nickname for his friends and family.

"It's my new name for everyone who has a connection with this place, and more specifically, you. Its members are Sophie and Abby, of course. Mrs. Hudson, Mary and I, Francesca, Lestrade and occasionally Clarkie as well." I informed him moments before Abby raced into the room followed, more calmly, by her mother.

The next few minutes went spent explaining how she had arrived at her conclusion, what clues had led her to it and how they had caught the criminal. It was only when Abby had finished her narrative and Holmes had examined every detail, hugged his girl and fondly told her how well she had done and how proud of her he was that I forced him to get some rest.

As Sophie had predicted the following few days were a nightmare. Trying to keep Holmes from his cases was a full time job.

"But my mind rebels at stagnation." Holmes complained to me one evening from his position curled up on the sofa. Struck by a sudden idea I handed Holmes a pencil and an empty journal of mine.

"Fine, as you are always complaining about the quality of my writing, you give it a try." Holmes, never one to back down from a challenge spent the rest of the day scribbling in the book. After dinner we all retired to the sitting room and Holmes finally revealed what he had been doing.

I couldn't help but gasp and I wasn't alone. There was no writing on the page, but several stunningly life-like sketches of each of us. It seemed that even Sophie had no idea about his artistic talent. He looked rather sheepish as we all took our time admiring the drawings and complementing his work.

"They're only quick sketches." He insisted sleepily when Mary suggested that we frame them. He was now sat between Sophie and Mary, a blanket tucked around his shoulders. But he didn't complain when everyone agreed that we would frame his 'quick sketches'. Instead he fell asleep, his head resting against Sophie's shoulder.

One by one we headed off to bed but I couldn't help but notice Mary tenderly tucking the blanket more firmly around the now fast asleep couple. I could hardly contain my smile. In a way we were all Holmes' family now.


End file.
